Page 12 of The Forgotten Prince

He turned away.

No matter, Gwendolyn told herself.

She knew why he was behaving this way, and contrary to how it was the first time she’d encountered him in this very courtyard, she understood it wasn’t because he reviled her. She realized he didn’t wish to inspire gossip, particularly today when there were so many gazes upon them. For weeks now he’d slept, gods knew where, and all because he’d wished to lift her in the people’s eyes. Yet knowing this didn’t make his repudiation any less excruciating. Nor were they fooling anyone with this contrivance. Anyone present could read Gwendolyn’s heart in her eyes.

So be it.

This was for the best, she told herself.

She must be grateful he was so determined to push her away. Her love for him threatened to soften her heart, and Gwendolyn couldn’t afford to be soft—not now.

Not on the eve of this quest with so much at stake.

“Caradoc,” she said, presenting herself first to the man to whom she would submit her city’s keys. Theirs was a tenuous friendship and the last thing Gwendolyn intended to do was to insult the man before their departure. As a fellow of convention, he was already struggling with the recent changes—foremost, a woman sovereign. To that point, his objection to having any woman on his konsel was in no small part a protest over having to bend the knee to a woman. But eventually, they would all succumb to a woman’s rule, Caradoc included.

For now, she must take a few lessons from her mother, and she could afford to be open-handed, knowing he needed her more than she needed him—at least until the moment she handed him the keys. Then she would be gone, and she must trust that Trevena was not his heart’s true desire.

He responded with a polite bow of his head—a deferential gesture, to be sure, slight though it was. Even so, Gwendolyn was grateful for it. She knew the head bow had cost him some pride.

His son made up for his father’s meager tribute, giving her a full bow, and Ely’s genuflection was unmistakable. Gwendolyn gave her dear friend a warm smile, gesturing for her to rise, before giving her new husband a grateful nod.

“Take good care of my dear friend,” she charged him.

“I shall,” he replied with a nod.

“Majesty,” said Caradoc as he stepped forward to take Gwendolyn’s hand, leaning forward to kiss it. But then, as Gwendolyn would have expected, his familiar, irreverent grin returned by the time he’d lifted his gaze. “I thought by now you would have reconsidered my proposal?”

Marriage?

Not whilst she had breath in her lungs!

“Lest you forget, my liege, I already have one husband to be rid of,” she jested, then winked. “I shouldn’t like to add another.”

“Ah,” he said. “Fret not, my beautiful queen. I enjoy a good tussle.”

Gwendolyn blushed hotly, despite she didn’t wish to.

The man was incorrigible, with his incessant flirting—really, to the point that no one in their presence could fail to note it. And while it heartened her to hear his teasing, it came dressed with teeth. She knew he meant every word, and regardless, she wouldn’t fool herself into believing his proposal was proffered with any genuine affection. They had grown as close as two contenders could be, but she knew him to be a practical man, and for his part, a betrothal would only secure his position. It would be far easier and less bloody than doing battling for Gwendolyn’s crown despite that, as yet, she hadn’t even an army of her own. No matter, she had the potential of aid from her powerful grandfather, and for now, that should be enough to temper Caradoc’s avarice. But she would not delude herself into believing he cared for her or even feared her.

His answering tone was smooth as an eel, Gwendolyn thought. “If you but give me a nod, I would see it done,” he suggested.

Murder Locrinus?

Gwendolyn almost laughed—almost.

He had yet to release her hand, despite she tested his grip. He drew it back with subtle but unmistakable force, his grasp tightening on her fingers and Gwendolyn smiled, giving a glance about at so many gazes upon them, then relaxing her hand in his, capitulating with gritted teeth. Queen Eseld would have flirted back, so she gave it her best effort. She found Caradoc responded better with a little teasing, trading quips until he had no more rejoinders. “Well,” she said with a knowing smile. “Bring me his head! I may reconsider?”

He was quick to return her smile, but the fierce glint in his black eyes held a trace of annoyance, and he released his vise grip on her hand.

By now, she knew him well enough to know he would not be stupid enough to leave the safety of Trevena’s walls, especially for some fool’s errand. Caradoc’s army and his people were still recovering from recent battles. He would not risk his kindred’s welfare. Still, she winked once more, only to be certain he understood her challenge was made in jest.

One unwanted marriage was enough. She would not entertain another.

A young page arrived with supplies, saving her from further discourse.

“Travel well,” suggested Caradoc, as Gwendolyn turned to watch the boy load their saddlebags.

Esme oversaw the effort, and Gwendolyn had every faith their needs would be met, so she didn’t look closely at what was being packed. But she spied several lengths of salted meats, bread, canteens, flints, and bolts making their way into each of the saddlebags, and finally, a small sack of gold coins into Esme’s hands. Esme plucked up the sack by its velvet strings, then turned to hurl it into Bryn’s hands. “For you,” she said, “I’ve no use for trinkets.”

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